The Hobbit: A Retelling
by ChthonicUnraveling
Summary: In which Bilbo has a twin sister named Bramble who goes on the quest in his place - and for good reason. How will this change the course of history?
1. In the Beginning

Many a person has heard the tale of the Quest for Erebor, of how the brave members of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield placed themselves in grave danger in order to reclaim their halls and home. However, not many know there is much more to the tale—and even less what that 'much more' is.

It begins, as it always does, in a hole in the ground. Not just any hole, one full of worms and oozy smells, but a hobbit hole, and that meant good food, a warm hearth, and all the comforts of home. The location was Bag End of Bagshot Row, Hobbiton, in the Shire. The occupants: Bungo Baggins, Belladonna Took, and their lovely twins Hawthorne Bramble-Thicket Baggins and Bilbo Brandywine Baggins.

It was a lovely summer day with the sun shining brightly overhead, and the birds swinging sweetly in the trees. Hawthorne and Bilbo were off playing with their cousins in the fields (most likely stealing from Old Farmer Maggot) leaving Belladonna and Bungo to relax in their front yard, the former reading a book and the latter smoking a pipe of Old Toby.

"It's almost a shame none of your elf friends could see this," Bungo commented absently causing his dear wife to smile.

"It has been some time since they visited last," she replied wistfully, "though I know Lord Elrond to be quite busy watching over our corner of Arda."

Bungo knew the sigh of longing when he heard it and realized it could only mean one thing: "You're itching for another adventure, aren't you."

Bella simply shot him an amused glance. "Of course I am. I am a Took, after all."

"I am aware," he acquiesced, "and it is part of why I love you so." He beamed fondly at the woman beside him, wondering as he often did how he could have been so lucky to have married such a spitfire. "What I meant was only a question. So soon after Belle and Bilbo? They are barely eight years of age, Bella, hardly old enough to go traipsing off to Rivendell."

She sighed. "I know," she said quietly, warm brown eyes gazing off into the golden day. "And it is for them I stay. I can only teach them so much before Yavanna takes me back to her Garden, Bungo, and nothing teaches as well as experience. I only pray it will not come too late."

In his heart he felt an ache, the same ache that came with his wife's restlessness. When she wanted to go, he wanted to go with her. But they couldn't leave their precious sprouts, nor take them along. No, if adventure were to come, adventure would just have to wait.

~.*.*.~

And here it is, chapter one of my newest fanfiction escapade! I won't update the next chapter until I finish the one I'm currently writing, but rest assured I have at least six other chapters done and waiting. Also: I haven't decided how I'll post each chapter since they are in segments, so any suggestions would be nice. Check out my other Hobbit fic The Pale Orc and, if you like Star Wars, Time Out of Mind (which I will be fixing soon). And remember to hit that Review button; I'll only keep posting if I get _at least_ five reviews/like/follows per chapter. Sorry, but I need to feel inspired, ya know? Anyway, enjoy!


	2. An Untimely Parting

Here it is, Chapter 2. Hope you guys like it :) Remember, I won't post the next chapter until I get at least five Reviews/Favorites/Follows, so don't be afraid to click those buttons!

* * *

13-year-old Bilbo Baggins sat with his sister in the garden in front of Bag End, watching as she sang and laughed with the little birds that twittered around them.

"Momma says no hobbit's been able to speak Hobbitish for centuries," he commented mildly.

Hawthorne, or Thorne as he called her, grinned at him. "Papa says that we're special, that the Green Lady made us special. I can speak Hobbitish; what can you do?"

Bilbo scowled playfully. It was a bit of a sore spot that Thorne could speak Hobbitish, but all he seemed to be able to do was understand her. However, Bilbo could tell that he was different: all you had to do was note how astoundingly good with people he was; if you were around him, no matter what mood you were in, if he wanted you to feel a certain way you felt it—but he only liked to use it to break up squabbles, and he'd promised years ago to never use it on Thorne. "You know very well what I am capable of, you nuisance, and would do very well to remember that the next time you manage to get into a tussle with Hamish or Winston."

Hamish and Winston were both cousins and members of the Proudfoot bunch, a rowdy family fond of good drink and faunts picking fights with the other families (particularly the Tooks). They both seemed to have a knack for criminally acquiring pies left unattended on windowsills—and for berating and antagonizing Thorne.

She screwed up her face and stuck her tongue out at him. "Fine. I won't help you make friends with the fish in the pond, either—not until— "

"Belle! Bilbo!"

The twins grinned and shot to their feet at the sound of their mother's voice. "Coming Momma!" Bilbo shouted back, and they raced up the road to greet her on her way back from the market.

~.*.*.~

That night they sat at the table eating supper, Belladonna entertaining her husband and son with tales from her tween days while Hawthorne stared thoughtfully into the fire. It took them nearly half the meal before they realized how silent she was, and it was Bilbo who noticed first thanks to their twin connection.

"Thorne? Are you alright?"

"Yes, Belle," Bungo agreed, "you haven't quite been yourself all evening."

She turned her periwinkle eyes slowly to regard them solemnly. "I started hearing songs today, Mother," she intoned. "At first I thought it was just the wind, but now I realize it is really there."

Belladonna regarded her with concern. "Whatever do you mean, Thicket?"

Hawthorne gestured helplessly. "Songs! I can hear everything's—and every _one's_ —songs! They are all different, but they are all there. Yours, Papa's, Bilbo's, even the fire's!"

"Does it hurt? Is it distracting?"

The young lass thought for a moment before shaking her head. "No," she admitted with a sigh, "not in the slightest. They are simply…" she trailed off searching for the correct word, " _there_. It is like the air: we know it is there, we feel it even if we are not trying to, we breathe it without thinking; the music is the same way."

Her family thought on this for a good long while before Bungo spoke up. "Belle, do you think it would be possible for you to sing us a part of one of these songs?"

"Are you sure that is wise?" Belladonna inquired well aware of her daughter's seemingly magical singing abilities, but Hawthorne had become excited.

"Oh, yes, please," she cried in earnest, "let me show you! It is all so beautiful!"

The matron thought, sighed, and nodded.

Immediately Hawthorne turned to the potted plant by the kitchen door—a beautiful azalea Bungo had given Belladonna for her birthday some weeks before. Her young voice rose up in a wordless tune, rising and falling and dancing in a way that seemed to provide images of sunlight, meadows, and butterflies to the listeners; after a minute or so she ceased. At their questioning looks she shrugged. "He didn't want me to tell anymore," she said by way of explanation.

Belladonna couldn't for the life of her figure out if she should be concerned her daughter meant the flower.

~.*.*.~

The next few weeks were ones of caution and discovery as Hawthorne learned sing—and manipulate—the songs she was able to hear. She never sang a person's or creature's song, instead focusing on the plants in their garden and the occasional butterfly or firefly. Hawthorne loved all the challenge her new ability posed and took the learning curve in stride. Sadly, it would not be the only one thrown her way.

Three weeks after that night at dinner Hawthorne was left alone in the smial while Bungo went to check on his clients, Belladonna went to tea with the Gamgees, and Bilbo went gallivanting about with some visiting Brandybuck cousins. The young hobbit lass waited an hour after their departure before sneaking silently to the main room to sit in front of the fireplace.

Carefully she lit a candle and set it down on the hearth (to prevent any mishaps, of course). Then she settled down in front of it and began to sing.

Hawthorne had noticed that no inanimate object had a song, only living things. Why then did flames sing? Why did she hear them so clearly if they were not alive? That is why she had to do this.

At first her voice rang bright and clear, mimicking the dancing spark before her. It grew soft and gentle, then loud and reckless. She realized with a start that she had somehow uncovered a secret aspect of the candle: fire may give light, but underneath was still the potential of pain. She kept singing, trying to coax the flame that had grown larger to come back down to a normal size, to shrink and give naught but light once more. She had just managed to calm down when Belladonna burst through the door; Hawthorne whirled in surprise, her voice cutting off abruptly—and the world exploded.


	3. Beyond Words of Comfort

Okay, so I felt a little bad that I haven't updated soon even though people Favorited/Followed/Reviewed enough times to qualify, and this chapter is short, so I decided to post early even though the next chapter isn't quite finished (almost). As always, questions and comments are welcomed, and the next chapter will be out once I finish the chapter I'm _currently_ writing plus five Favorites/Follows/Reviews for this chapter - total, that is. Enjoy! :)

* * *

Hawthorne sat curled up in a chair next to her brother's bed; she had long ago used all her tears. It had been two years since the funeral, long enough for Hawthorne and Bungo to believe everything would be okay. They hadn't counted on Bilbo's uncanny knack for lying.

He had made them believe that. Bilbo had wanted them to think everything was okay, so they had completely missed all the signs that he wasn't. A week and two years since the funeral and Hawthorne had found her brother lying almost dead in his room; she wouldn't have even known to look if he had waited till after supper. Now here they were, one catatonic and the other grieving once again.

The door opened. "Come, Belle," Bungo sighed sadly. "Lord Elrond wishes to speak to you."

She meekly followed him to the parlor where the Lord of Rivendell sat stoically though she could hear the sadness in him.

"Hawthorne," he greeted.

She nodded slightly in return greeting.

His song saddened a little more. "Your brother has obviously been suffering for some time. I have checked him over not only as a physical healer but as a spiritual one as well. There is hope for him to recover…" Elrond trailed off.

"But this is the stage where you wished you had sent Lady Celebrien to Valinor sooner," Hawthorne finished softly for him.

His wise eyes saddened, but he nodded. "Even so."

Bungo watched with tired eyes but said nothing. This was for his daughter to deal with; Bilbo was _her_ twin after all.

"Would he be able to heal in Imladris?" Hawthorne asked suddenly.

The two older males looked at her in surprise. "Well, perhaps," the elf allowed. "It is uncertain if changing your location would relieve some of the stress— "

She shook her head. "No. Not all of us. Just him."

Now they were truly shocked. "Hawthorne— "

"I have thought long and hard over it," she protested quietly, "and this would be the best solution. He must be away from all of this. From everything. Bilbo always loved your city better than his own, anyway; he will be happy there."

"But what of you my dear?"

Everyone turned to face the gray wizard who hadn't said anything yet.

She shrugged slightly, meeting their gazes with an unwavering one of her own. "My happiness lies with Bilbo's happiness. I cannot be happy knowing how he suffers. If after a time he does not recover, then we can give him the choice of sailing to Undying Lands. It is better than— " here her voice cracked marginally, "than this."

The elf, Maiar, and hobbit thought of this proposal before coming to a silent agreement.

"Very well, Hawthorne," Elrond stated. "It shall be as you say."

~.*.*.~

Hawthorne sat silently by her brother's bedside for what would be the last time. She had done all she could—except one thing. There was fear in her heart at the thought of it, but she felt she had to try.

Quietly she began singing, her voice speaking of the grief and despair Bilbo had been unwilling - or unable - to communicate, slowly twining it with her own song and taking all the hurt away until it was no longer his but hers alone to bear. When it was over she slumped to her side exhausted and heavy - but at peace knowing Bilbo was free.


	4. The Fell Winter

Hello again, dear readers! This is the fourth installment of this story, and I would just like a moment to say thank you to all of you who have kept reading this :) I Finally finished Chapter 8 and now 9 is under way. The chapters do get longer as I go, though, so the breaks in between each update might increase :( If any of you would like, I'm hosting a competition of sorts. If you have any Hobbit fanart (either for this story - which would be fantastic - or the original or maybe even your own Hobbit AU), all you have to do is pm me a link. You can also enter a oneshot idea for either A Retelling or, again, the original Hobbit, or pm me a link to your own. The winner will get a oneshot done of their choice, an extra update, or a fanart piece of their description. Second gets a oneshot and a drabble, and third just a drabble (100 words). All will be posted separately and dedicated to the winner of that item. Sound fun? Awesome! Remember, like/comment/subscribe! (Also, and I'm just starting this, any of you who comment can request extra scenes you would have liked to see in each chapter that I'll post separately from this story in between updates :) ) Enjoy!

* * *

That year the snow came harder and faster than in any recent memory. It coated the ground, buried smials, suffocated those unlucky enough to be caught out in it. It was horrible, but for those like 22-year-old Hawthorne and Bungo who had large pantries and even larger stashes of wood it was bearable. However, they just wouldn't be good hobbits if they left others to suffer. That was how they found out about the river.

Bungo and Hawthorne had trekked out with supplies to deliver to the needy on the lower Bagshot Row. They had just stepped back outside when another hobbit came stumbling through the drifts yelling and shouting at the top of his lungs; his words carried clearly over the pale powder.

"Th' Brandywine 'as froz'n over! Th' Brandywine 'as froz'n!"

"Damascus Brandybuck?" Bungo called in concern. "Whatever are you talking about?"

The winded man panted for breath, his brown eyes flashing with fear and urgency. "It's th' Brandywine River," he gasped. "It's been froz'n o'er, an' the wolves 'ave come 'cross. Th' Bounders 're doin' their best, an' our Brandybuck lads, too, but there's more comin' there is, an' worse if'n ol' Maggot be right!"

Bungo went pale nut somehow managed to keep his head. "Thank you for warning us, Damascus. Go warn the others; I'll tell the rest here." The other hobbit nodded before hurrying off. "Listen to me, Belle. I want you to go back to Bag End, bar the door, let the fire die out, and wait for me. Do you understand?"

Hawthorne nodded fearfully. Hobbits weren't meant to live in such fear, she thought numbly as she ran back home. _We weren't meant to suffer this!_

 _~.*.*.~_

All the entrances in Bag End were barred, blocked, or locked. The food in the pantry had been rationed to last them till June if need be, and their wood supply could last till April if they had only one small fire every other day. Water of course was easy to acquire, but movement outside of the house was limited. Bungo and Hawthorne went out only once a week to check on their neighbors and get news from the market, and they always traveled with at least two other people. Even that wouldn't save them.

Hawthorne heard them first, her sharp ears accustomed to the songs of her home land as they were. "Papa," she hissed, and everyone around her froze. "Papa, there's something coming. More than one, and they are looking for blood." That was all she got out before the first arrow buried itself in Winston's chest, knocking him back into the snow at the force of it. Hawthorne screamed.

Hamish and his brother, Joseph, dove for cover along with everyone else, their crudely made spears help in trembling fists. Bungo held his daughter close to his side as more arrows fell.

"What are they, Papa," she sobbed quietly.

"Orcs."

He rose to his knees and let loose with a stone that knocked one orc clear off his Warg. The other hobbits followed suit, killing many of the large party with their hard blows.

"When I say run," Bungo wheezed when he dropped to avoid an arrow, "you run, Belle, understand?"

She nodded numbly.

"Good. Now RUN!" Bungo shoved her to her feet and turned back to the orcs, the other hobbits letting loosed with all they had so at least someone could survive.

Hawthorne barred herself in her smial and would later be grateful that she and her father had figured out a way to make the front door invisible to prying eyes. She grabbed a small stash of food and blankets before hiding deep with her home, back to the wall, silently sobbing as she listened to the distant screams of her friends, family, and neighbors. She couldn't sleep that night, or the next, and refused to eat until her father came home. She had no idea how much time had passed before she realized he was not coming home; her body gave out on her then, and she knew no more.

It was several days before the Rangers were able to find her alone in her smial, and only then because of her gardener Hamfast who showed them where the smial was hidden. She was naught but skin and bones, a mess of hypothermia, and running a high fever. One of the Rangers, Arathorn, stayed with her and nursed her back to health while also caring for the others who lived nearby.

It took many weeks before she was strong enough and willing to attempt walking around her home. Gandalf came, as did Lord Elrond's twin sons Elladan and Elrohir. None were able to assuage her grief. It wasn't until the warmer weather came and the Brandywine melted that she spoke again. It would be years before she smiled.

Hawthorne mourned the loss of her father oddly. She became silent as his grave and learned to tune out the songs of others. She had Gandalf put up barriers in her mind so she would not be able to remember everything for many years. And she changed her name. Hawthorne cut her hair and became Bramble. That was how she would be known for the rest of her life.


	5. An Unexpected Guest, and a Party Besides

Bramble had expected something like this to happen when Gandalf appeared on her doorstep a few mornings ago. That had given her enough time to prepare places to sleep for the company of dwarves she had been informed were staying at the Prancing Pony in Bree with Gandalf himself. Blasted wizard. So she had done her utmost best to be prepared for them when a knock came to her door.

It was not a dwarf. Instead it was Arathorn, an old friend of hers.

"You say Gandalf just showed up?" he questioned in mild disbelief as he listened to her story.

"Indeed, and left me with no warning of the company I will shortly be expecting, if my hobbit sense is anything to go by. Heavier feet than a man's are traipsing across the Shire, their destination presumably here."

The Ranger snorted and sipped his tea. "Of course. That Istari is nothing but trouble you mark my words, Thicket." He took another sip. "Do you plan on going along with whatever he has planned?"

She snorted. "Of course, though I assure you I won't make it easy on him. He'll live to regret the day he ever tried to take advantage of _me_."

"Oh, I'm sure."

They sat in companionable silence until Bramble spoke up. "What brings you to my smial, Arathorn? Not that I don't always enjoy your company, but it _is_ rather out of the blue."

He sighed, thought, placed down his tea, leaned forward, and sighed again. "We Rangers have received word of the orcs in Gundabad stirring once more. We are amassing as many of our number as can be spared to march on the mountain and stop whatever devilry is occurring. Hobbiton wasn't too far from my path, and I thought I should see you before…" The older male trailed off a little guiltily.

"Oh," she gasped softly after a moment. "You don't think you're coming back, do you." Tears stung her eyes.

He shook his head. "No. I am leaving my son with Lord Elrond; he will be well taken care of there. If, by any chance, you see Aragorn, please remind him of my love for him? I cannot bare to leave him so soon -" His voice cracked, and he hung his head.

Bramble wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh, Arathorn." They held tightly to one another before he pulled back.

"I must be going. My fellow Dunadein await me at the borders of Hobbiton."

Bramble nodded, the tears spilling, and led the way somberly to the door. They made it to the front step before they both lost a little of their composure and embraced once more; their bodies trembled with suppressed sobs.

"Goodbye, little one," he murmured helplessly into her curls, and then his warmth was gone, pulling away, and marching slowly down the path, through the gate, past the first of the dwarves, and down the road. Her hand stretched out as if to call him back, but she pulled it to her chest and cradled it against her heart.

Finally, she turned to the first of her many guests. "Come, please, Master Dwarf. I have dinner almost ready in the kitchen."

He approached cautiously, a bear of a creature if she ever saw one. "Dwalin, son of Fundin, at yer service," he greeted bowing at the waist.

She returned it and replied, "Bramble Baggins at you and yours. Do come in, and leave your weapons at the door."

He obliged, but as he walked past her he asked, gesturing to the road she was still staring glumly at (with tear tracks still on her face no less) "Who was that?"

She sighed and turned to him. "He was Arathorn, a Ranger of the North and a dear friend of mine. A more noble Man I don't think I shall ever meet - lest his son prove to be worth his blood, as well, though only time will tell."

The dwarf raised an eyebrow at the finality in her tone.

She sighed once more, this time in resignation. "He is going off to war, Master Dwalin, and he will not be returning." She left it at that and went to finish up in the kitchen.

* * *

Dwalin didn't know what he had been expecting when he walked up the road towards his future host's hole - pardon, smial - but it definitely wasn't a ranger (aye, he recognized the attire) embracing a small hobbit-folk before walking away; he felt his chest tighten in anxiety for he well knew the visage of a man going off to a war he did not expect to come home from.

Warily he stepped into the yard at her invitation and introduced himself to the lass. _Didn't Tharkun say our burglar was ta be a male?_ He shook it off and reminded himself to be on his best manners (yes, Balin, he _did_ have them).

"Bramble Baggins at you and yours," she replied, voice heavy and worn (if this urged him to protect her in any way he would never admit it to anyone else); "Do come in, and leave your weapons at the door."

He obliged and followed her into what he assumed was the dining room; the table was already partially laden with all manner of foods. She offered him a chair and a plate of scones to tide him over, so he took this time while she finished cooking to evaluate her.

Dwalin had come to expect from the halflings a general sense of goodwill and cheer, brightly colored and well-made clothes, amazing food, the best ale in all Arda, and impeccable manners and sense of respectability; theirs was a simple culture though all the more complex for it.

This lass, however, did not quite fit the bill. She was quiet, not even humming as she worked; she was slender compared even to those blasted weed-eaters; her clothes were simple earthy browns and made of home-spun linen (of a fine quality but obviously not of the same make as her countrymen's); her eyes - a beautiful shade of amber - were haggard as if having see too many troubles; and last, but not least, was that she was obviously not of the same bright temperament as her brethren. She was sad, and lonely, something Dwalin thought no hobbit had any business being. A knock sounded at the door.

"I'll get it, Lady Baggins," he announced quietly rising before she could take a step forward. He offered a soft smile that seemed to do wonders at relaxing her and moved to the front hall. "By my beard," he grinned upon seeing the caller. "Balin. You've grown shorter an' wider since last we met," he teased.

"Wider, not shorter," the oldest son of Fundin replied. They went through their usual greeting before turning to find the halfling watching from the door to the kitchen, towel in hand, with her eyes shining fondly though her face remained solemn.

"Brothers I take it," she intoned, and sadness sparked behind the amber but quickly disappeared. "Bramble Baggins, at your service. Please leave your weapons with Master Dwalin's and feel free to wait in the dining room or sitting room just in there. When the next two of your company arrive please send them in to help finish setting things up."

They looked at her in surprise, but it was as soon as she escaped their view that two more knocks came to the door; it was the young heirs.

"Balin," Fili greeted solemnly.

"And Dwalin," Kili grinned.

 _Mahal save us_ , the burly dwarf groaned internally.

"Come lads," Balin said, "our hostess has requested your services."

"Hostess? But Tharkun said -"

"Aye, we know, laddie," Dwalin growled lowly. "The blasted wizard lied t' us. Be on yer best behavior, else you'll be hearin' it from me." They nodded and turned to go into the kitchen - only to jump back and yelp in surprise. Once again Lady Baggins had snuck her way in to join them.

"Bramble Baggins at your service."

"Fili and Kili at yours," Fili answered gesturing between his brother and himself as the brunette was too busy clutching his chest in residual panic.

"Wonderful to meat you." This time her lips twitched up in the shadow of a smile. "Follow me, if you will. I hate to ask any guest of mine to do anything for me, but I'm afraid I have been a bit pressed for time recently and bedding still needs to be set out."

They followed her willingly, and Dwalin turned to raise an eyebrow at his brother. This was going to be interesting.

* * *

Bramble soon found twelve dwarrow in her smial - the thirteenth was on his way - along with Gandalf, all of them gathered in her sitting room chatting to each other as they waited for their leader. After watching them for a few moments Bramble stood; the room fell silent. She held herself demurely as she spoke. "I am aware that it was Gandalf here who invited you all to my home. This was without my consent." The dwarrow broke out in mutterings of rage and confusion but fell silent when she held up her hand. "This does not mean I do not welcome you. I was able to learn of your coming myself and prepare, so the only one in any trouble tonight is the wizard himself. As for the rest of you, I believe there have been some - _misunderstandings_ concerning myself."

"We thought you'd be a male," Ori admitted nervously, and she offered him a sympathetic glance.

"Of this I am painfully aware. It appears Tharkun was under the impression someone else would be living in this smial. He was wrong. While I believe details of your journey should wait until your leader arrives I have one question: will knowing my true gender affect my being allowed on this quest?"

Murmurs once began among the dwarrow, rising steadily until Dwalin rumbled over the din, "The wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves."

More than one dwarf noticed how their hostess stiffened, and her amber eyes flashed in mild anger. "I assure you," she intoned with noticeable constraint, "Master Dwalin, that I of all my kin-folk am the most able to defend myself should the need arise, a fact Tharkun knows and is now probably counting on. While you have all been courteous as much as you are able, I will not tolerate any slights against myself. I have seen more than even some of you, and that would be best remembered." Bramble's countenance softened once more. "Please forgive my harshness as my people skills are a tad rusty. Ah! There is your leader now." The door thudded.

Bramble made her way easily to the front door, painfully aware of the entire congregation directly behind her, and opened it right as Gandalf made a move to. _Serves you right, you meddling wizard,_ she though smugly.

The dwarf on her doorstep looked about ready to say something but instead choked in surprise.

"Yes, yes, I am a female," Bramble sighed. "This is all Gandalf's doing, I assure you." She bowed and added, "Bramble Baggins at your service."

The dwarf nodded his head politely. "Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror."

 _A Durin? My, Gandalf, what have you brought down upon me?_ By the looks of surprise around her she realized she may have spoken out loud. "Dearie me, I am sorry. That was supposed to stay in my head," she apologized sincerely.

"You know of my bloodline?" Thorin inquired gruffly.

Bramble let her mouth twitch down in a frown. "I know a good many things, King-in-Exile, and have forgotten more than that. Your family tree is not unknown to me, though the way you introduced yourself would surely have given yourself away as royalty to begin with." At his confused glare she raised an eyebrow. "A king - no matter of what station - can hardly be found offering his services so freely to one of another race or standing, can he?" It was less of a question and more of a statement. Bramble stepped aside and motioned him in. "Please, come in. My hearth and meal is yours for your stay, should you have it, and your companions I'm sure are tired for want of food and rest. Just, please, leave your weapons with the others."

She could sense the astonishment at the traditional hobbit greeting and her extensive knowledge of their culture, but they all willingly followed her to the dining room.

Dinner was a raucous affair filled with much merriment and conversation. Bramble stood quietly to one side and watched them eat, her own hunger forgotten.

 _Arathorn is going off to Gundabad_ , she thought wearily in an attempt to distract her from the songs that pressed in around her. _He will not be coming back. I do hope his son has reached Imladris safely. Speaking of, I should most likely send a letter to Lord Elrond alerting him to the possibility of our arrival -_ Her thoughts were cut off abruptly as pain lanced through her mind. She had gone so long living on her own and tuning out the songs of others that to be surrounded by so many was forcing them in upon her. Did the dwarrow know how overbearing they were in spirit as well as in person? _Sweet Yavanna make it stop_ , she begged silently.

By the time she was able to ignore the pain once more the dwarrow had cleaned up their dishes and were now sitting at the table waiting expectantly - and looking at her.

She cleared her throat. "You are all here because of Tharkun," she began, "and because of a quest. Do not look so surprised that I know of it, for it is not my fault you speak in the presence of those that can hear. Your purpose is mighty, I will give you that. Noble though it may be, I see not why Gandalf has chosen me to join you."

It was Balin who answered. "We required a burglar, Lady Baggins, to retrieve the Arkenstone from the Dragon's hoard in Erebor. This would buy us the allegiance of our kin and allow us to bring war to the dragon."

She hummed thoughtfully. "And now?"

"You are a lass," Gloin admitted uncomfortably. "It is not our place to place you in danger."

"But you need me," she pointed out blandly, meaning it as a test.

Thorin must have sensed this for it was he who responded. "We require a _burglar_ , Lady Baggins, not a grocer."

O~r maybe he didn't.

Her eyes hardened. "A grocer?" she asked softly; Gandalf inched away from her. "Being a grocer is a respectable position here in the Shire, Master Thorin. If I did not know better, I would say you had complimented me."

He rose to face her - correction, tower over her. "You are a soft creature, _halfling_. I cannot be responsible for one as inexperienced as you!"

Balin buried his face in his hands, Dwalin snarled, and several of the others stiffened in outrage.

"You need not defend my honor," she soothed softly, voice floating over them and almost magically calming them. "I am coming with you," she informed Thorin, "whether you like it or not. I am the most qualified for this venture amongst many in Middle Earth, and I intend to aid you as best I can. I must inform you, however, that I do not intend to receive any payment or share of the treasure, as I'm sure your contract says, for my troubles. As long as I know that my efforts were not in vain, it will suffice."

They all stared at her dumbstruck. No reward? For risking her life? She was sure they all thought she was crazy, and for some reason that simply made her sad.

"Now. Is there something I must sign?"

* * *

 _*sheepishly* Hey, guys. I am so, so sorry it took me so ling to get this next chapter out. I haven't even finished the chapter I'm working on, but it's been so long that I just pulled this one from my buffer so that you guys could have **something**. Anyway, here's where the fic begins to follow the movies - and book, because you **bet** I'll be including some details missed in the movies. Please review, like, follow, or whatever, because it honestly really does inspire me and help me. Especially when you guys review and leave suggestions or even point out mistakes; that stuff really helps me keep going. And, since I don't have a beta (if you want to be, just pm me cause I could **really** use one), I rely on you all to help me fix my mistakes. **I** know what's going on in my head, but you don't, so if something's unclear, you gotta let me know, 'kay? Kay. Also, shameless, advertising here, I have another fic I could use some more feedback on called **Family: What Lloyd Learns He Has**. It's a Ninjago fic based off the Lego movie. Also, I'm in the process of writing a Naruto fanfic (I know, so original), but I haven't posted anything yet, and I don't plan to until I have the first installment typed up to where I have it written in my notebook. Anyway, if you or anyone you know might be interested in helping me beta that, please let me know. _

_Till next chapter! :)_


	6. In Which They Leave the Shire

Bramble rode atop her pony with a grace and poise not seen among even elves. She had her gear and supplies—very well chosen for this journey—tied behind her to the saddle plus her magical satchel hidden beneath her cloak and fastened at her back. Gifted to her by Lord Elrond many years ago, it was bigger on the inside than the out allowing her to have packed spare clothes, hankies, a spare cloak, extra material, her sewing kit, her various weapons, and even extra provisions. She was not new to travel.

It was a three-day journey to Bree, and only one day had been spent on the road so far. In that time Bramble had come to solidify many opinions and conjectures about her traveling companions: Thorin was a grouchy sod; Balin was kind but wary of her; Bombur was incredibly shy; Ori was a very talented and eloquent writer and story teller; Dori was a fussy mother hen; Fili was very solemn and protective of his brother (though he could have fun on occasion and loved to joke with his brother); Bifur was fond of plants and seemed to be fascinated by her strange behavior; Kili was always ready with a grin for her and was completely the most open to having her (besides Bofur and, surprisingly, Nori); Dwalin seemed to have taken a liking to her; Bofur was exceptionally cheerful; Oin and Gloin were mildly suspicious of her; and Nori studied her relentlessly. Oh, and she had yet to truly feel like part of the Company.

Bramble found herself at the back of the line, some several yards apart from the others, both by her desire to distance herself from the clamor only she could hear and their unintentional (or perhaps not) exclusion.

It went on like this until Bree where they stabled their ponies and went to the Prancing Pony where they bought a warm meal and beds for the night.

Balin joined them last with a huff. "I was only able to purchase three rooms for the night," he informed.

"Three?!" Bramble protested over the others. "I know for a fact we had enough to get at least five, unless—Oh, be-bother it." Without another word she stood and left to locate their host.

* * *

Balin had come to respect the lass traveling with them over the journey to Bree. She had packed well, dressed in sturdy pants instead of a skirt and a good shirt for traveling, seemed to know how to ride a pony, and never complained despite the unpleasantness of Thorin. He failed, however, to appreciate what all these little tidbits meant when all lumped together. Now they were sitting at the table in the Prancing Pony waiting for the burglar to return.

When she did it was with a smug gaze and a spring to her step. "All is taken care of, my good dwarrow," she announced. "I have settled the problem, and now we are in the possession of eight hobbit sized rooms for the night as well as a good, hearty breakfast and extra care for our ponies. Oh, and a man's room for Gandalf. That's probably important seeing as how you'd be hard put to be squished into one built for small folk."

Balin blustered. "Eight rooms? Lass, we just don't have that kind of money!"

She sighed quietly.

"Maser Balin, Company, apparently you are not aware of the fact that The Prancing Pony has rooms created for us of a shorter stature. They are cheaper, both because of hobbit relations with and in the town of Bree as well as myself. I assure you that no extra expense was charged to The Company but to my own pockets."

This time it was Dori who spoke out. "You paid for eight rooms?! By yourself?!"

Balin wanted to nod his head in agreement. Sure the smial they had visited had been nothing short of grand, but there was simply no way the burglar could have afforded such a deal even with discounted prices. The royal adviser watched with narrowed eyes as the hobbit put on a long-suffering face and bore their unceasing questions silently for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Bramble was sure she wanted to murder the dwarrow. Not only was her head ringing from close proximity to their unique brand of clamor, but her patience smarted from having to deal with such insufferable idiots (the only possible exception being Bofur as he had merely glanced at her sympathetically and shared his ale discreetly with her).

Come morning she was about early helping in the kitchen when the sound of some of the dwarrows' voices drifted from through the doors; she went out to greet them with a content look on her face and flour on her hands. "Good morning Bofur, Kili, Nori, Ori, Dwalin, and Oin. What has you up so early in the morning and without your charming companions?" she nearly smiled at the way Dwalin's mouth twitched suspiciously.

"'Ey!" Bofur yelped cheerily. "Ever'one knows I'm th' charmin' one."

Bramble resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead turned to Oin.

"Thorin wanted us to be collecting what little supplies we needed before we took off."

"So early? Surely you've eaten at least."

Little Kili's face scrunched in displeasure as they all shook their heads sadly.

Bramble sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand, and muttered to herself. "Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves." When she looked back up she once more had that mask back in place. "Well then, take your seats. I'll get you fed right quick so I can lead you through Bree's market."

After quickly delivering them bowls of steaming porridge Bramble untied the apron from around her waist, splashed water on her face, gestured to the dwarrow to follow, and exited The Prancing Pony.

* * *

"The market is a common stop for men, Rangers, hobbits, and even dwarrow from the Blue Mountains," the lass told them, one hand gesturing to the variety of wares on display. "While some of the vendors all sell the same product, you will find that some offer better deals based on race and social standing. I can recommend a few to see for specific items if you would prefer."

Bofur noted with mild interest that she turned to Oin at this, and he was just about to remark on it when young Ori – the timid lad, bless his soul – shuffled closer to the side of their resident bear-dwarf.

"I-It might help if we spl-lit up," the poor boy stammered, mittened hands wringing together as he sidestepped a trio of unobservant men.

"Splitting up," Dwalin protested with a glare directed at the retreating backs of the would-be Ori-squishers, "is a bad idea. We know nothin' of these merchants and their ways."

One of Bofur's eyebrows raised in mild disbelief beneath the brim of his hat. Miss Baggins, body angled to appear decidedly soft-edged and non-threatening, seemed as if she wished to express the same sentiments.

"While these may not be the markets of your homeland," she argued amiably (and how she never broke pose or tone was a mystery to the be-hatted dwarf), "I can assure you that every merchant is a firm believer in the respecter of persons – and potential business transactions. You will find what you require by noon-time at the latest. In fact, splitting up will allow you to retrieve all your items all the faster." One slender eyebrow arched upwards in an elegant hint of motion.

Bofur found himself wanting to double over with laughter. Barely a day had they known her and already she was fighting them to a standstill with her words alone. Marvelous! He watched as Dwalin spluttered before scraping his composure back together.

"Then tha's what we'll do," he huffed, and – were his cheeks stained pink beneath his beard?

The hobbit caught his eyes, and Bofur very clearly saw the mirth gleaming there nearly causing him to lose his cool altogether.

Dwalin continued, "I'll go with Oin to get medicines and weapons' tools; Nori and Ori- "

"As if I'd let him anywhere without me," the star-haired dwarf muttered; her nose twitched most interestingly.

"-can get what non-perishables we need. Bofur and Kili, you'll go after food-stuffs. An' Lady Baggins…" He trailed off uncertainly, looking at the female in question.

"I shall go with Masters Bofur and Kili," she intoned smoothly. "They will require more assistance with the food sellers than your goods." At this she turned daintily on her toes and began padding off in a seemingly random direction.

Bofur was frozen. Wait – what? Where was she going?! "Uh-Um-Bu-Lass -"

She must have realized they were not following, for she stopped to look back at them. "Well? We haven't got all day, you lazy sods." Though said with no teasing inflection the intent was clear in those amber pools of hers.

The miner snapped off his fugue with a violent shake of his person before dashing off alongside the young prince to join her at her side. As they reached her, she turned and continued walking.

* * *

Kili was rather impressed with the halfling. Gentlehobbit – if a lady and a homespun one at that – though she seemed, she had a way with words and people that put even Gandalf and Balin to shame. Keeping her voice at the same level, never giving off more than a passive expression, body held at attention but leant just so, and eyes warmed to a certain, trustful degree she bartered down prices with exceeding skill – and still managed to purchase twice as much as they had originally hoped for.

"That," he praised, awe lacing his words, "was fantastic. I've never seen anyone do that so well!" He noted with keen gaze that she didn't blush, but the tips of her ears twitched almost imperceptibly instead.

"I learned only from the best," was her only excuse; it left more questions than answers.

"Now, now, Lass," Bofur chided, "is tha' any way ta be treatin' yer Company members?" Green-grey eyes twinkled merrily.

However, the hobbit was given no chance to retort, for at that moment a voice called out, "Bramble!"

Kili silently cursed himself as he spun to face the scarily-close intruder; he should have heard their approach though a glance to the side revealed that she had almost seemed to already know the other hobbit had been there. Wait.

Yes, that was another hobbit, one who jogged over to them with one hand raised in greeting.

"Delaware Took," Lady Baggins greeted warmly (without outright smiling), shifting the sack of flour in harms to her hip so as to receive and return a one-armed embrace. "It has been too long since you've stopped by for tea."

He pulled back with a grin big enough for the both of them, and Kili suddenly felt certain that they were related. "And longer since your presence has graced my humble home." A curious gaze, one the young prince was used to, raked over the males. "I wasn't aware you'd be in town," he commented.

She hesitated. "It was a… sudden decision. My Company stopped here in order to restock, and then we'll be once more on our way."

Delaware seemed to deflate slightly before Kili's very eyes. "Ghera will be very disappointed to learn you did not stop by to say hello and exchange gossip."

Lips twitched fondly. "Your wife, I'm sure, will forgive me this one time for my haste."

"Oh?"

"I'm sure. You see, I travel on a quest with the Company if Thorin Oakenshield."

Recognition sparked suddenly through the hobbit, causing him to nearly trip over himself if Bofur hadn't righted him with a concerned frown; he himself flitted river green eyes between Kili and Bofur with awe. "You mean- "

Lady Baggins nodded once. "I do."

"And they- "

"Yes."

"So you're- "

"Indeed."

For the first time Kili was eyed with respect as Master Took whistled through his teeth. "Well, cousin, it appears I will have good news for dinner tonight. Or maybe afternoon tea. Perhaps sooner than that – luncheon. Definitely for luncheon."

Again she seemed amused, cheeks softened as if just waiting for a smile. "Or now," she suggested, giving him a little shove. "We must be getting back, Delaware, but I swear I shall write you as soon as I am able to keep you and Ghera updated as to our progress."

"Of course," he agreed, shuffling backwards. He turned and made as if to dash off, but he spun back, concern etched deeply into his skin. "Be careful, Belle," he told her seriously. "Do not do anything foolish."

Her eyes echoed with a ripple of sadness that wrenched at Kili's heart. "I cannot promise much."

Delaware seemed equally saddened. "I know," he replied softly, and then he turned back and was gone.

She watched him leave before facing them once more. "Come; let us get these back to the inn."

* * *

 _Hello! First of all, thanks to all of you who still follow this story. I know I haven't been around a lot (and I still haven't finished the chapter I'm still on), but I promise this story isn't abandoned. I've recently started college, so updates will be even more sporadic than before as I try to work on all the fics I have going or planned besides rl stuff. I'm posting this in haste, so I don't have time to answer reviews, thank specific readers, etc. that I do with my Ninjago fic, so here's a general and heartfelt thanks to all of you for you support :)_

 _As a quick little easter egg, does anyone have an idea as to why Delaware might have recognized the Company and its quest for what it was? Virtual cookies to those who guess right, plus a bonus omake of their choosing to the first correct guess._

 _I'm really excited for the next chapter, you guys; it has the scene with the trolls, and I rather like my interpretation of it with Bramble, so stay tuned._

 _As always, read, like, review, and follow if you find this fic worthy! Thank you! :D_


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